


Honesty

by marshymellowmonster



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: AU, Crossover characters - Freeform, M/M, Pre-Series, Pre-Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:23:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4560999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marshymellowmonster/pseuds/marshymellowmonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU set pre series, in that Rimmer and Lister don't meet on the ship. Might eventually be pre-slash/slash depending on how good I can write it. Most characters will feature in at least cameo roles. <br/>When Rimmer is finally honest enough to admit he's absolutely useless as a technician, it finally opens some doors for him and his luck really begins to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the lies no longer have it

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer- I don't own Red Dwarf. I don't own a car. I don't own a hamster. I don't own even own a pen. My brother keeps losing them. Therefore even the pettiest of lawyers can see why it will be useless suing me. I own nothing. nothing of any kind. my only decent possession is a knock off guns-n-roses t-shirt and you're welcome to it. 
> 
> I'm using stars and foot notes for weird terms or note worthy things cos I'm nice and I explain em. reading the fic will explain the random words below.  
> *- Cossack dancing  
> **-not words I'd use but I'm trying to write in character and we all know he would.  
> ***-Rimmer's obsession with Biggles, a series of books about a fictional Ace pilot from the world war is canon. I couldn't stop myself from having a dig. I've recently read the books, by W.E Johns, and I'm pretty sure that's where Grant Naylor got the idea for Ace from. (Biggles is described as tall with straight blond hair and hazel eyes and is a crack pilot, good friends with everyone, who goes around the world saving people from evil and having very short relationships with women=sound familiar)

No man, however good at lying, could lie to themselves 24/7. So sometimes Rimmer was honest, not very often but sometimes. In rare moments when he was feeling melancholy, mostly late at night when he couldn't sleep, he knew he didn’t have it in him to be an anstronavigationalist. He also knew that this failure was because he didn’t want to be one. His sub-conscience therefore decided that it would block any relevant information from being remembered, as a failsafe against this unwanted career move. However, Rimmer was Rimmer. He spent most of his time lying to himself and tried regardless to climb a ziggurat, which to him at least, was an oil coated slide. He didn’t admit it wasn’t all or nothing for him, unlike the Small Faces. He ignored the fact that his true dream was never to be an anstronavigationalist. He still wanted to be an officer, still ached for the responsibility and his dad’s approval but he didn’t want to be a Console Officer, 3rd, 2nd or 1st class. No, Rimmer's most heartfelt dreams were of a different career, to be a provost in the space corps, at least when he could be bothered to listen to them.

Universe wide, there weren’t many willing to be provosts, so if Rimmer one day listened to himself long enough to sign up, he would probably be accepted. No qualifications were needed, the only bar being on convicted murderers, other violent criminals were fine. The low rate of volunteers was down to the violence that could be suffered, and was something that should have scared Rimmer off, but for some reason didn’t- we wasn’t the weaselly coward people thought him to be, he just needed the right motivation. They got transfers anywhere they wished, such was the demand. The pay was higher, the quarters better and they were space corps opposed to the JMC. But none of this drew Rimmer to the job.

What Rimmer was actually drawn in by was the power. Though the gun and the truncheon were good too. But mainly the power. Just by remembering the minutia of interstellar law and space corps regulations, they could arrest _anyone of any rank_ for wrong doing. Rimmer was very good at remembering minutia. And spotting wrongdoing, however minor. And some nights he dreamt of arresting his brothers, revenge no matter how high ranking they were. In those dreams they’d call him a betrayer, and he would snort and smirk and say calmly “Judas _is_ my middle name”. He would do it properly- arrest first, think of offense later, just as in the provosts’ creed. Though they were little more than military policemen in space, they were universally feared and revered.

* * *

 

Left to his own devices, most likely nothing would have ever been done about these dreams. But it wasn’t. One of his honest moments had coincided with a prank by Petersen which involved slipping some Glen Fujiyama whisky in his tea. This had made him go down to HR and fill out a training transfer request form. Afterwards drinking more had found him in the Copacabana, a favourite haunt of the entire crew it seemed, where he indulged in yet a few more. At some point he’d entered into an impromptu jumpstyle* dance off which began on the dance floor most of the crew looking on and ended with him and Petrovich having a showdown on the tables so everyone could see. Luckily, Rimmer was actually pretty good, it being his second favourite dance only to Morris dancing, as it was a favourite in Risk circles. He probably would have won if they hadn’t both been kicked out. Dragged back in the early hours by a couple of mining operatives with newfound admiration, he awoke in his quarters the next morning with no recollection of the previous night a stonking headache which he assumed was a stress migraine. He therefore went about his duties oblivious to the reason for the “nice moves” comments and of his actions the previous night.

* * *

 

Later that morning, completely unknown to Rimmer, Captain Hollister and Toddhunter looked at a transfer request like all their Christmases had come at once. Hollister’s eyes bugged out almost comically as he looked at the piece of paper in front of him.

“Does this mean he wants off the ship? Provost? Do ya think he can do it?” he said to Toddhunter, disbelievingly.

“Well Sir, he does seem to be the exact sort of petty, bureaucratic, small-minded arsehole they look for, he can remember all the space corps directives and the men already hate him-he’s perfect. Anyway, he’s full of surprises- until last night I never would have thought he could dance.” Toddhunter replied hoping fervently that the captain would say yes- if only to get Rimmer off his department’s back. Inside he was screaming 'who cares if the gimboid can do it, give him the smegging transfer!'

Hollister thought hard about it. If Rimmer got the transfer, he’d be off the ship out of his responsibility. Even if he failed, he’d be space corps rather than JMC- their problem. He might even be able to go to sleep naturally again. His reasoning if a little passionate, certainly seemed genuine, at least on paper. Finally, he came to a decision “let’s get him in for an interview.”

Toddhunter ran out of the office to find Rimmer, not even trying to hide his smile or stop the whoop of joy that came out of his mouth. Not officer behaviour maybe, and he might have been reprimanded for it, had the Captain not felt the exact same way.

* * *

 

An hour later a bemused Rimmer sat opposite the captain, right leg jiggling furiously. He had no idea why he was here. In many ways he was reminded of his time at IO house, where he had spent most of his day in the headmaster’s office. He quickly thought through why he might be here. Promotion- even he knew it was unlikely. Insulting an officer-not likely. He hadn’t been in a fight recently, or fraternised with an officer in any way, shape or form- so what could he be here for.

Across the desk Hollister leaned back, then forward again assessing the man in front of him with what he had seen from previous occasions and from the footage he’d seen last night. Rimmer was obviously oblivious to why he was here and very nervous.

“So Rimmer, explain why you want a transfer, to security no less?” Hollister started trying to keep his personal interest out of his voice. He had money riding on Rimmer knowing nothing about it- it being a prank- and then passing dead away.

And then, a miracle, Rimmer did not ruin his own chances. He took a deep breath and then spoke with real feeling a truth which he denied even himself usually. “I suppose Sir, because I’m fed up of being a square peg in a round hole. I’m a useless technician even after 12 years, eight on the dwarf- I’ve no hope of becoming an officer like this. So I would like a chance in a role I feel I would be successful in Sir”.

Hollister gaped, his eyes like saucers and his brows up in his receding hairline. He hadn’t been expecting that, or the level of honesty. This was obviously something Rimmer felt strongly about. He could only think of one other question. “Rimmer, I want you to think carefully about this-and be honest- do you think you will actually _pass this training_.

A scowl briefly crossed Rimmer’s face before it set in a countenance of pure defiance and determination. “I can’t be sure Sir” he began, with more confidence than he actually felt “but, I’ll certainly try my hardest, and I’ll make it.” He was surprised how sure his voice sounded, as was Hollister.

The captain released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and then nodded, sure he was making the right decision. He’d give Rimmer a chance. He personally had nothing to lose anyway. With a bang heavier than it may have needed to be, he slammed the ‘approved’ stamp on the papers- the shock making Rimmer jump. “Take this down to HR, they will sort out the transfer and let you know, until then assume your regular duties.”

Rimmer took the papers and _almost_ collapsed regardless but just about controlled himself. Overcome with the captain’s newfound confidence in his abilities he rushed down to HR excited, but somewhat tense.

* * *

 

It was three days later when Rimmer’s travel orders were confirmed. He knew from his transfer to the dwarf from the Raleigh that transfers usually took longer. He could only guess that there was a rush as they were rapidly leaving shuttle distance. At least this time his transfer wasn’t as a result of a fight, his time on the Raleigh had ended as a 22 year old 3rd technician after his shift supervisor had beaned him with a heavy combination spanner.

He was due to leave on the Titan shuttle at noon in landing bay one. It was six now, and it would take half an hour at least to make it to the shuttle port. He had only five hours to pack! Luckily he was never one for unpacking. For some reason, Chen and Selby, two of his subordinates were being especially helpful taking down his beloved camphor wood chest for him to be shipped direct. Full of fake sincerity, Rimmer didn’t even suspect it was because they wanted to make sure “the Cossack” was gone. With the chest gone most of his stuff was packed. He didn’t need to take his uniforms- he wasn’t JMC anymore- and he’d never really liked beige anyway so he left them in his locker. With the basics, his few casual clothes, books and other bits and bobs packed he was ready with hours to spare.

Good. He had a one night layover in Titan before going to the Lunar training camp. If there was one thing Titan was known for it was the ease at which a guy could hook up thanks to poorly lit nightclubs. He had a hotel room paid, so he didn’t have to worry about that, and hopefully he’d lose his virginity tonight. He showered, then gelled his hair to the very fine point between ‘weird’ and ‘ugh greasy’ and then got dressed in a white long sleeved shirt, skinny chinos and a green tie which his bunkmate Thesen assured him made him look ‘devastating’. Usually Rimmer liked to ignore his ‘fairy’** of a bunkmate existed- especially since Thesen outranked him- but the man did have a good sense of style when it really came down to it, and didn't mind giving good advice.

A couple of hours later found him waiting for the shuttle, duffel slung over one shoulder. He looked around at the others getting aboard to see if there was anyone he could tolerate. Petrovich- no, he was a knob, Petersen- ditto, two lads he didn’t know from the flight deck, Bent Bob- hell no it might be contagious** and McGruder- possible but why would she want to speak to him, she was perfect and he… wasn’t.

Unwilling to let his mind focus more on exactly why such a perfect model of female kind would never look at a worm like him with anything but disgust, he hit himself in the head. It was something he hadn’t done since he was a teenager, but it always relieved his social anxiety- at least when he was sure no one saw him do it. It made him feel like he got the punishment he deserved for thinking the wrong thing, or for being so crap at social situations. The one person who had ever caught him doing it, and who he hadn’t been able to fob off by saying it was an accident was Dungo the gardener. He’d sat down with the fourteen year old Rimmer, listening to his reasoning and explaining a better, less painful way. To be honest Rimmer didn’t know why Dungo cared. He never found out as the gardener had been fired a short time later, about the same time as Rimmer divorced his parents.

A few minutes later, the transport shuttle an old mining scouter of the _white midget_ variety converted by way of the fitting of 20 seats plus a small kitchen in a small space. He boarded the cramped ship still lost in thought, this time about the dream he had last night. It was the last time he ever watched a horror movie, even just for kicks just before he started his bedtime reading. It wasn’t scary just strange. He was pretty sure that there should have never been a situation where Biggles and his Sopwith Camel*** were faced with a giant deathworm instead of Von Stalhein or whatever his name was. He left cloud cuckoo land for just long enough to see that a science officer by the name of Robinson was sat next to him- already asleep, at least he wouldn’t be expected to chat.

* * *

 

Two hours later found him attempting to stand up to disembark, despite the fact he had a severe cramp. He had long ago decided the shuttles were designed for short people with no legs, and tried to avoid them like the plague, but sometimes there just wasn’t a choice. At least, he thought to himself, it was done and dusted now. He looked for the address of the hotel, only to realise it wasn’t a hotel at all but the dosshouse1 opposite the shuttle stop for JMC employees. With no money to go anywhere better, it would have to do.

He walked in and registered, and was reminded that he wasn’t allowed ‘visitors’ whilst he was here by the scary old bat who handed him the key- sighing he picked up his duffel, so long to his plans. Unless he could go home with them as opposed to vice versa. His room for the night or at least until 2pm the next day, the latest he could check out, was up on the 5th floor. And the JMC tight as they were, wouldn’t spring for a building with a lift.

Lesser men would have been dead before they reached the 5th floor, Rimmer assured himself. He was fine, if a little short of breath but he’d always kept himself in regulation shape. Anyway, running away got harder the bigger you got and being thin and fast had always helped him as it would hopefully help him should the need arise again. He unlocked the battered wooden door, not knowing what to expect. It turned out to be just what he was expecting, a small room with a door connecting to a tiny bathroom, clean but tired. It was decorated in inoffensive cream and neutral tones with a single bed, small wardrobe, table lamp and television which he was 99% sure would only show pay per view blue movies. Like that bothered him any. If he couldn’t get laid, he knew what he’d actually be doing.

* * *

 

One night of his usual ‘bugger all’ luck later, and still a virgin, Rimmer rose late. With no roommate to bother, he couldn’t be arsed with usual jog and slept through three alarms. After getting cleaned up and brunch, he had barely enough time to trawl through the old bookshop he swore he was going to look at before getting on the next shuttle. Rimmer had never been to the moon before, but he knew it was the oldest, most heavily populated and stable of the extra-terrestrial settlements. It was a whole 50 years older than IO, though to be fair, the projects had started at the same time. His hangover was just about bearable and his memory recall though better than before still wasn’t a hundred percent.

This time the shuttle was much better, one of the newer range of demi light speed zippers kitted out with booths as the journey still took a little over 168 hours to complete2. At least Rimmer thought wryly, in stasis he couldn’t be expected to talk to anybody. And it meant he wouldn’t be getting any older on his travels either. Indulging his new found people watching hobby he looked around at the assorted people waiting for the _interstellar express (3)_. ‘It probably wouldn’t get any weirder if someone had written it as a joke.’ He thought to himself. There was a literal knight in shining armour, a one legged nun, and a little dirty punk, a family of earthlings in matching shell suits 4. Strange, but not interesting not to him. There was, a little further back a man in the gold flight suit of a space corps test pilot- for a minute Rimmer hid thinking it was Howard until the man saw him looking and waved, he looked familiar though Rimmer wasn’t sure why. No what caught Rimmer’s attention was the pudgy looking kid dressed in a dirty zero gee football trunks and khakis- for some reason the lad just intrigued him. And then, he realised the line had finally started to move so he budged forward breaking eye contact. Then he was on the shuttle and on his way into a new chapter of his life.

* * *

I think that's the longest chapter I've written for anything. oh well,

1) a dosshouse is a cheap grungy hostel, a place you can sleep but you wouldn't like to stay. Like travellodge only worse.

2) I've done the maths and worked this out. at half of light speed it takes 168.85... hours to  get from triton to the moon. it was boring but I do a lot of weird, work heavy research for fan fiction,

3) I've imagined that national express has got a lot bigger

4) these people do sound too weird to be true. they're not. they are all people I saw last august when dropping my neice off at London Victoria coach station. the knight was in a full suit of armour, shield, the lot- on a long coach ride. the nun lost her leg to diabetes, the family were scousers coming home after a trip to London. obviously, the test pilot is a nod to ace- he wasn't there, though he's there to represent the squaddie in full gear I saw- a real hero looking tired and scarred.


	2. new arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there is definite pre slash of the one sided variety. basically this is the chapter where they get to the moon ad start training. There is going to be swearing but you'll see why when you see what the characters i'm introducing are like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay I've been pretty busy. Anyway here's chapter two- written as I lay in bed. guess what I got hurt at work when some electrics malfunctioned so I can't do a whole lot. 
> 
> disclaimer- Red dwarf was made in early 1987/88. I was born in 1998- August in fact. guess who doesn't own it. I wish I did. when I take over the world, I shall confiscate it and share it among fans.

*Collins was the third and forgotten member of the Apollo 11 mission  
** my local independent coffee shop  
*** couldn't help myself. I know all about getting names wrong. my name is rachel, my best friends are joey, pheobe and chandler (i'm serious) so my friend Niamh which they can't spell or can't be bothered to- the baristas write Monica. If her boyfriend Dan joins us- he's ross.  
================  
Just over a full week later, though it felt like only a split second had passed for those aboard thanks to stasis, the shuttle craft docked at gate 15 of the Armstrong docking port, which serviced the capital lunar settlement Armstrong. All the lunar settlements were named after the pioneers of space travel, and they were named in order of their namesake’s impact on space travel- Armstrong was the largest, followed by Aldrin and then the smallest was Collins*. Or so the announcement had cheerfully told them upon their arrival. Bloody shuttle stewardesses. None of them could talk in a normal miserable voice, like normal people. Rimmer picked up his duffel and bypassed the luggage pick up where what seemed to be the entire population was waiting. He’d had the chest and his other paltry belongings put into storage until he finished his training just so he didn’t have to ship them again when he inevitably failed. Then he walked past the arrivals lounge, long immune to the spike of discontent most travellers got when there was no one with a board waiting for them. Walking past the taxi touts and the strange people, he could already tell the moon was not going to be his favourite place in the universe.

He paused and then moved out of the busy shuffle of people to a slightly quieter row of seating off to the side, noting in his peripheral vision that the grotty space bum he’d seen get on the shuttle with him was doing the same. Rimmer shrugged it off, he couldn’t be bothered to dwell on little coincidences like that. Rimmer checked his watch- ten past three, and then his travel orders. He didn’t have to meet the bus from the training centre until four. Good. He noted with some interest, that the pudgy man-boy was still looking at him, and had just been checking his own piece of paper. Rimmer couldn’t stop himself from double taking and glancing up him again. On second-glance the man was dirty but with a shining beauty underneath, and yes he was pudgy but in a cute way. Arnold shook himself out of his thoughts quickly before… whatever happened, he wasn’t gay. 

Evidently, he’d not stopped himself soon enough, as the man was walking towards him ‘oh Gods, he noticed me looking’ Rimmer lamented in his head, afraid the man might have gotten the wrong idea altogether. “Hey” The man said with a strong accent that Rimmer knew made him an earthling but couldn’t pinpoint any closer than that. “I noticed you looking at that piece of paper- travel orders?” It was obviously a question, but Rimmer wasn’t sure if he should answer. Eventually he decided that if he was friendly and answered, the man might go away sooner than if he argued or ignored him. Clearing his throat, he finally answered.

“Yes. For training, space corps police.” The man’s face looked puzzled, just for a moment and then relaxed into a smile which appeared to be his resting emotion. It was quite a nice smile, Rimmer had to admit, full of teeth and with tiny little dimples on his cheeks. For some reason, certain parts of his anatomy had missed the memo his brain had sent out regarding his chosen sexuality and were excited by the smile. He found himself with the sudden urge to kiss the grin off, but instincts instilled by the Love Celibacy Society allowed him to school his emotions into ship shape and Bristol fashion. 

“They got you too man did they, needed to get of Mimas and tried for the JMC but there were no places for people with my special skills, so they put me onto police training, but I’d have done anything to get off that smegpot of a moon.” The stranger paused for a moment and then held out his hand, “Dave Lister, scouser tryin’ to go home, and schmuck, pleased to meet you”. The man was from Liverpool then- that explained a lot. Mummy wouldn’t have wanted him to talk to this man, which was exactly why he was even considering going to have a conversation with him. 

Rimmer stared at the grubby hand for a moment, then the face of its owner. Then the hand again. Shaking it firmly, for as short a time as social convention allowed, he returned “Arnold Rimmer, former JMC tech- just had enough and wanted a change”. His new acquaintance’s face changed again, the man letting out a bark of laughter before controlling himself. “What’s so smegging funny?” Rimmer ground out angrily before he could even come up with a witty, sarcastic putdown. ‘Dave’ swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, paused for a moment and then deigned to explain himself. “Sorry man, but that is one hell of an unholy burden to give your child- were your parents sadists or somethin’?” The question was asked lightly and Rimmer decided to shock him by telling the truth. 

“Yes” Rimmer deadpanned in a way that left no doubt he was being honest. “It gets worse- my middle name is Judas, but that’s seventh day hoppists for you.” He didn’t know quite why he was playing along but he was doing so happily. Something about this man’s happy and easy going nature sat well with him, he’d like for them to be friends. 

Back on the ‘Dwarf, if this man had have shown up, Rimmer would have been a right bastard. He had a reputation for being a pathetic git after all (or as Petersen put it, useless Dickhead). But this was his new start and something told him they could work well together. As long as his suddenly rebelling libido didn’t have a say in the matter. The man in front of him surely would not be interested. Not that he was interested either, he told himself. Rimmer looked at his watch again- another 45 minutes until they had to meet the bus for the training centre. “Want a coffee?” he asked, watching Dave’s face and hoping he’d say yes. “I’ll pay” he added, which definitely did the trick.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------   
A few minutes later the two were sitting in a quiet leather covered booth in the corner of the Java the Hut** coffee shop. They were talking about everything and nothing, from work to Zero Gee Football which Rimmer was quick to point out he knew nothing about and if people didn’t know any better they might have thought it was a date. In fact several people did see and think it was a date- especially seeing the way Rimmer’s leg jittered nervously under the table. They did reach a safe topic in motorbikes though, Rimmer loved the old military bikes and the classic British Triumphs and BSAs whilst Lister had a passion for the slightly more modern, being the proud owner of a spacebike he was restoring to working condition. 

In between sips of his plain black coffee and fuming that the Barista had spelt his name Arlene***, Rimmer had learnt quite a lot about his new friend. He had for example found out that Dave had been found under a pool table in a pub as a baby and been raised in Toxteth. He’d been adopted and then brought up by his grandmother. He was working as a mechanic’s mate in between getting drunk with his mates, when suddenly a super-bender had left him waking up in Mimas with no way to get home. Eventually even his mindless optimism had abandoned him at which point he signed up for training. He was going to do five years off earth as the pay was better off-world, then jack it in and set up a farm on Fiji with a partner of his choice. Rimmer tried to point out the flaws in this plan, even utilising a rare impression which he never had the confidence to do normally. The only effect was making Lister laugh. Rimmer found he didn’t care. It was a beautiful deep laugh, genuine and friendly and he wanted to hear more of it. 

At some point Lister paused from sipping his sickly sweet mint choc chip Frappuccino1 to ask Rimmer about himself. Despite his misgivings, Rimmer soon found himself pouring out his story, just at one look from those chocolate coloured puppy dog eyes. He told him about his family, his career failures- everything, powerless to stop himself under that warm gaze. To his credit, Dave seemed to sympathise, and didn’t laugh once. It was a relief to be talking to someone who actually seemed to take him seriously, Rimmer mused, before realising that it was time to leave if they didn't want to be late. He tapped Dave on the shoulder and then pointed at the clock. As they moved off he could have sworn he heard the other man mumbling “stupid space corps, hate it already…” Though he should have been defending their new employer, Rimmer found himself agreeing with Dave’s sentiments and wishing he could have just five more minutes alone with the man.   
\------------------------------------------------------------------

The two found that, being five minutes early made them neither the first nor last to arrive at the designated pick-up point. A tall brunette chap introduced himself as Mike, a Ginger man as Phil and the rather serious man with them as Den 2 “the meanest smegheads this side of Glasgow.” The one named Den glared at Mike who corrected “including Glasgow”. He then added sotto voice “bloody great Scottish gimboid”. Lister laughed, whilst Rimmer chuckled nervously unsure of how to act around the men, who were clearly former criminal types. 

They were soon joined by Eugene, a gun-mad former space corps marine who was retraining after injury had left his previous career impossible, and then by Jenny and Liz, two young students who viewed it as just a job- and one of the few open to those with no degree that paid well yet gave them time to study. Last to arrive were two blokes in their early twenties named Viv and Rick (the P was silent according to Viv, a joke that took Rimmer fully five minutes to understand) who really just needed jobs away from their mad housemates and the people they owed money to. They told some story about a bus, Cliff Richard, a house, a hippy and a bank that no-one could quite follow and they had just finished when a lorry3, obviously intended for them pulled up at the rank.   
\---------------------------------------------------------------  
They loaded up onto the back of the lorry quickly and quietly to avoid angering the ornery middle aged sergeant who had come to collect them. Already everyone could tell he was not one to be crossed under any circumstance. Well, almost every one. Rimmer and the others looked as Rick was punched in the face by the man- though to be fair, he’d deserved it. Going on about fascism and capitalism and loads of other -isms needlessly as he was made even Rimmer want to punch him. Hell, faced with Rick Pratt even St Francis of Assisi would have taken a well-aimed swing, which in fact would be classed as example of mercy and a miracle- so he’d even get to stay canonised.

As soon as the vehicle started moving, talk turned to what the training would be like. Mike reckoned it would just be one long attempt to break them down and build them back up from scratch as “the bastards he’d had so much trouble with” at which point he shared his reasons for his and his friends’ career choice- it was court ordered to reform them. Phil was excited was looking at the girls more than talking. The other man, Den, who had thunder on his face thought that there would be a crash course in brutality at some point which Viv said he hoped there would be, though from what Rimmer had seen neither of them had needed it. They had taken it upon themselves to give Rick another punch after spotting him trying to look down the girls’ shirts. The Girls themselves said they didn’t care what the training was like as long as it was over with quickly, a sentiment Dave seconded.

He was finally brought out of his reverie by becoming aware Dave was asking him a question. “Hey Arn, what do ya think it’ll be like eh? You’ve already done all this space training smeg- it can’t be that different” Rimmer snorted a laugh at the ignorance of his new friend over the company he’d almost found himself working for. “Well” he said thinking about it carefully “My last lot was with the JMC, a lot different because the Space Corps actually funds its training centres, but I imagine long days, lots of physical work to build up fitness and then some classroom work to learn regs and such with some military training as well” it was a hedging answer but as much of an answer as he could give, his imagination long since dying away. The space corps was military and probably so much different to the JMC a piss-poor example of a company, but which made a lot of profit. “Why don’t you ask Eugene” he said pointing to the sleeping man in the corner “he’s already done this once”. Dave’s eyes went wide “because I don’t want to wake that madman up”, reasoning that everyone had to admit was sound and sensible. 

After a reasonably long drive through the domed capital city of the moon they reached a secure camp right on the edge in the middle of what passed as woodland on off world settlements. The camp was definitely military with guards in body armour at the gates and chain fences topped with bard wire forming the perimeter. It was clear that from this point on, there was no escape from the Space Corps. A few squat huts, clearly offices stood in front of them, behind them a large square of concrete- a parade square. Even further behind that was a line of larger huts- probably sleeping quarters, and a few brick buildings that were probably the stores, armoury, headquarters and mess.4 

“You lot” a shouting voice addressed them and the people in the second lorry behind them. “Off my lorries, NOW, and line up with your bags in three ranks of ten on the white line boys, girls three ranks on the blue line. MOVE IT!” The voice left no room to argue and they followed his orders quickly, jumping off the vehicle. Being tall it was easy for Rimmer, so he helped the ladies (and Lister) who being shorter found it a lot harder. Lining up, Rimmer found himself alongside Lister at the front staring straight at the owner of the voice. He was a short man, middle aged but fit, with greying brown hair and a moustache. Once the last people had stopped fidgeting into position he addressed them. 

“My name” he began “is Sergeant Halifax. Remember it. Of course, you can always call me Satan. I just dare you to say it to my face. These two men behind me, are Corporals Steele and Munroe, they do your training. Listen to them. Before we start I shall be inspecting you to sort the wheat from the chaff. Stand to attention!” There was a strong clap of shoes on concrete as everyone made at least an attempt to do as the scary man had said, though some efforts were better than others.   
The sergeant stopped at reach recruit in turn making scathing comments about their hair, their clothes, their perceived sexuality, the lot. Then it was his turn. Rimmer gulped prepared to be chewed out by a man who reminded him very much of his father. “Now, what do have here A LOSER REJECT from the JMC, if I’m not mistaken?” Rimmer wondered for a split second how the man knew before realising it was obvious- he still had his Red Dwarf crew jacket on and his duffel bag was JMC issue. 

“Yes Sir” he replied, knowing that defending himself would only anger the man, and result in physical violence towards himself, which was something he very much liked to avoid by any means necessary. 

“Why are you here, Second Technician?” The sergeant barked for everyone to hear, reading his name off of his jacket. ‘Great’ Rimmer thought ‘now everyone knows I’m a nobody’. But he couldn’t let it go without one smart Alek comment. 

“To stop being a JMC loser reject SIR!” he shot back, loud and clear amazed at his own sudden assertiveness that he was going to change and his sudden admission vis a vis his lack of self worth. There was silence for a moment and all eyes were on him, wondering how the sergeant was going to react. 

For a moment the man looked angry, brows black as a thundercloud before it all just suddenly disappeared. The man opened his mouth, shut it again and then said “good man. We’re going to help you do it.” He turned moving onto Lister before giving his final barb “haircut”. And there was Rimmer wondering what was so bad about his virtually brand new regulation cut. Lister too received an order to clean up and get a haircut.   
\---------------------------------------------------------------  
An hour later the inspection was finished. Sergeant Halifax stood in front of them “Never in my life have I seen such smeg in front of me. But never mind. Because I will turn you into soldiers, and policemen. OR, I will kill you trying. THAT is a promise.” 

Next they were split into groups of 15 each attached to a corporal. Rimmer found himself and Dave in Monroe’s section. “Pick your stuff up and follow me. At the double.” Munroe was a Martian, with a thick accent which some found hard to understand. They virtually ran across the square to one of the larger huts with a large number 2 stencilled on the side and followed the corporal inside to find a large room with bunks and wardrobes but not much else in the way of furniture. Posters warning of the dangers of bliss, and how to correctly do various things decorated the room. “Down there is your Ablutions- the bathroom. Now pick a bed, any bed and empty your belongings out”. Quickly the new recruits did just that, not wanting to anger the man who could make their lives hell for the next twelve weeks. The corporal went around confiscating food, pornography and whatever else he wanted to including all computers. No one argued with him. Arms bulging with contraband he went off ordering them to quickly put everything else in the bottom shelf of their lockers which was the only space they got for personal belongings.   
\-----------------------------------------------------------------  
When the corporal came back five minutes later, it was to take them off to the barbers. One by one they lined up and took their place in the barber’s chair to come out and bitch out their new hair styles. Lister lost his dreads, making him look plain without them. Rimmer ended up with the shortest crew cut he’d ever had, only a slight fuzz of auburn hair left. Apparently, so the barber said, the sergeant for reasons known only to himself, hated curly hair. It was quicker and easier to have a crew cut now than order a short back-and-sides and get sent right back again. Rimmer hated it, it made him look like a thug, exposing the scar from Howard’s attempt to smash his brains in with a cricket bat and it made his ears even bigger. The barber had offered to do something about them as well, as barbers were traditionally surgeons as well, but lamented the fact he did not, as a general rule, carry garden shears upon his person.5 

Their next destination was the quartermasters’ stores where they were given the basics, bedding, and a thin mattress that he only knew it was possible to sleep on as it was the same as the one in his bunk before, cutlery, a mug and a shaving kit. Behind him Rimmer could see Viv arguing with a poor clerk about when he could get a gun. He shrugged and started to walk back to his new bedroom arms full of stuff and paused to allow Lister who was having a much worse time to come up beside him. “This is a load a smeg innit?” the scouser said to him before continuing “Expectin’ us to wash every day. They’re havin’ a laugh.” Rimmer sighed, he didn’t want to offend the man but he did believe that cleanliness was better than godliness (since he didn’t believe in God). 

When they reached their bunks the corporal was waiting for them. With the sergeant. Immediately they all lined up by their beds as instructed before. The Sergeant looked all of them up and down. “You look slightly better now but I’m going to check every one of you separately to make sure. I do not abide filth. Seeing as most of you are filth, I CANNOT ABIDE YOU!” His first victim was Rick who was called a spotty faced smegger but couldn’t bring himself to care. Next was Viv who was called a ginger tosser. Most of the men, including Rimmer and Lister flinched, expecting a soon-dead sergeant but the man shrugged it off apparently having been called worse. No-one escaped criticism. Lister was next. “What have we here- a grungeball. You look better now you no longer have a rope ladder down your back but I want you clean. If you aren’t clean tomorrow I’ll kick you so hard you’ll need a proctologist to sort out your face.” Lister swallowed hard then replied with an only slightly edgy “yes Sir”.   
All too soon it was his turn. The Sergeant paused for a moment as if trying to remember something then looked up at Rimmer. “Well if it isn’t Reject. You look awful don’t you- nicked your facial features from an elephant have you big ears and a bloody big nose.” Rimmer ignored the snicker. “At least you’ve lost the devil’s curly hair.” Rimmer silently fumed but did not react- that only made it worse. The next thing he knew he was being grabbed by the jacket and pulled down to the sergeant’s level. “Pity we can’t do anything about your height eh too-tall? Minus the bird’s nest you’ve lost an inch but we’re lumped with the rest of you.” Rimmer didn’t respond again and waited before he was released before saying “Yes sir”. He knew they looked for every excuse to break people down, but he didn’t think he’d be victimised for being the tallest in the section. He’d never seen a stronger example of a Napoleon complex. He wasn’t sure why it was called that since Napoleon was average height but still. The sergeant was a truly nasty piece of work. 

The corporal gave them a quick demonstration of military style bed making and bedboxing6 before leaving them to do it themselves for an hour. Soon conversation turned to the sergeant. “He’s a right smegger” moaned Ray one of the men from the other lorry. 

“Well at least he didn’t physically assault you” retorted Rick in that ridiculous voice of his. 

Den tutted loudly. “He didn’t assault you he poked you in the chest. What your mate Viv did to that clerk earlier was assault. I’d be happy to show you the difference. Anytime.” He turned to Rimmer “Why did you just let him do that to you, why not shove him off Too-Tall” The nickname had stuck. Rimmer didn’t know why since Den was only a couple of inches shorter than him but it had. 

He sighed theatrically “because defending yourself only makes it worse. If I keep my head down I might get through this. If I make trouble I bet I’ll be kicked out or in the camp jail pretty soon.” He knew from experience as his father had raised his children in a house fashioned like a military camp. Any hint of insurrection they’d be locked in a cupboard. That is how keen he was to get them all into the space corps. And now he’d managed it. If he passed the course he’d be an officer. He’d have to write to the old bastard to tell him. Hopefully the shock of his youngest son finally making good wouldn’t kill him. Rimmer really wanted that well done from his father. After all if he passed this course he certainly deserved it. It may not be rebelling but he was certainly happy.   
\----------------------------------------------------------------  
The rest of the day passed quickly. They were fed, a disgusting liquid that claimed to be beef stew, but definitely wasn’t. If the contents had ever been part of a cow, Rimmer would eat his mattress. It certainly looked more appetising. Next they were given a crash course in cleaning the billet which got Lister complaining even more about cleanliness. Even to Rimmer’s OCD mind it was slightly excessive. After a short run around the square to pre-emptively teach them not to talk back they were returned to their quarters for a shower before lights out at ten thirty. Almost everyone complained about the bedtime hour until they saw they were expected to be awake at 5 am, also known as ridiculous o’clock. Rimmer shrugged and thought to himself ‘early to bed, early to rise’. As long as one choice part of him didn’t choose to rise about the person in the next bed he was happy.   
==========================================  
1- my local coffee shop does a beautiful mint choc chip iced frappe. it confuses the baristas when they try to say it cos their Italian, the first time the lady gave up and started humming tongue tied. and that's how I found my favourite coffee shop.   
2- my sister (beta fairy) dared me to reference characters from other things I like. so you have Mike, Phil and Dennis- coppers from heartbeat as reformed psychos, Jen and Liz also from heartbeat. Viv and Rick from the young ones (I had to leave the back story in) and Eugene? He's Tackleberry from Police Academy. please tell me if you want a character inserted in the story.   
3)Lorry is a large truck in British English. rather than simplified English. (only kidding) what do Americans have against the letter U anyway?  
4) all military camps have this stuff- I may have put it in the wrong order though  
5) the curly hair and shears thing is stuff my brother was told at army cadets.   
6) bedboxing is the incredibly useless art of folding bedding into a perfect square every morning. Naturally the British army is all over it.


	3. new beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> where the slash begins people, but still only at a PG rating. There is also a lot of character stuff and a little swearing, you know just enough to keep it interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this hasn't been updated for a while- the plot bunny went on holiday, and then I had no time. I still have virtually no time but managed to bash this out after doing a lot of research into uniforms, training etc. This chapter is for Robert, who didn't mind me spending his entire birthday writing. Happy birthday Rob!  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. really. would I bother with a-levels if I owned Red Dwarf? Smeg no!   
> *civilian clothes.  
> ** the mat punishment and all other punishments are real, at least for paratroopers, my mum used to work with them and remembers a lot of them bitching about it.   
> ***- the RD world seems to be a united Britain and America working together, so I have tried to combine the cultures of the British and American Militaries. That, aside from trying to remain in character is why Rimmer sounds like a prat.   
> 1- funny story. never address NCOs as sir. they will hurt you. they are always addressed with their rank. this is one f my mum's many pieces of advice for military life.

It seemed no time had passed when he was suddenly woken up by banging and shouting. “It’s five o’clock hands off cocks, put on socks” The sergeant was obviously waking them up in a way only he could. As instructed the night before, every one of them bounced out of bed and stood at the end ready for inspection. It was too early for normal people to be up, but Rimmer knew how to force himself, for years early shifts had battled with his love of sleeping in, and usually won. He risked a quick glance around and realised that everyone was up, with one notable exception. Dave was still snoring away like a chainsaw, and it seemed like the sergeant saw the same time Rimmer did.

Within seconds the man had power slid over to the poor space bum, and armed with his trusty dustbin lids, was banging them hard by Lister’s ear to try and get him up. “Wakey, Wakey rise and shine Scumbag!” he shouted at top volume. When that didn’t work either he went in for plan C, and kicked Lister hard. In the crotch. The pain was obvious and there was a hiss of sympathy from everyone in the room. But it worked, and in an instant Lister was up, murder in his eyes whimpering with the extraordinary pain. Work done, the sergeant left satisfied that it wasn’t even breakfast and he’d already hurt someone.

Rimmer, noticing that Dave was still squirming on the floor in extreme agony, walked over to him and with the help of Eugene picked him up. “Are you alright?” he asked, though the answer was obviously no. Lister responded only with a resounding groan. Shrugging the two took him off to the bathroom, making sure they all got ready in time for parade in half an hour’s time. The first part of the training, the first six weeks was purely military training, followed by occupational training once that was completed. Provided they passed. And Rimmer fully intended to pass, because he wanted that ‘well done’ more than anything else.

* * *

 

Clean and shaved with crewcuts all round, they were starting to look like soldiers, even in their civvies* as they hadn’t been issued with a uniform yet. And yet, it still wasn’t good enough. Munroe was screaming at them, get in line, do this, do that, do the other. Everyone was fed up, but it was with good reason. They had been at this for half an hour now learning basic drill since they weren’t allowed breakfast until it was done yet people were still making stupid mistakes. It wasn’t like it was rocket science or anything, they were simply lining up one next to the other, calling out their number in the line.

“Eight, nine…twelve”

Once again the short weaselly kid next to Vivian called out the wrong number by speaking up too soon. The poor lad was probably intimidated to the point he couldn’t do things right if he tried. Vivian was getting more and more annoyed as was his new partner in crime Den the Scottish heavy. Everyone was getting a little pissed off, including Rimmer himself, even the little coward inside of him was wielding a sawn off and demanding retribution. Something told him that once the NCOs were gone, the unfortunate goit would have the ever-loving smeg beaten out of him. Rimmer himself was number eighteen, and only once had they made it that far without a mistake- on that occasion they made it all the way to twenty-two before some stupid gimboid messed up.

“What the SMEG was that!” Munroe screamed angrily “one more time. And if you don’t get it right, you’re going on a cross country run instead of breakfast.” That thought was enough, miraculously in some’s eyes, to make things finally go right. In other words, this time they made it from one to thirty with no problems. No man should ever feel happy with that as a feat, but they all did. How could it be so hard to get something so smegging simple right?

* * *

 

Breakfast somehow surpassed dinner in terms of disgustingness. Porridge, cold and claggy by the time they got it, topped with watery scrambled egg. At least it saved on washing up. However, they were all starving and dug in, at least it was better than half of the stuff he’d come across in his JMC training course. Prisoners got served better than that muck. Somehow a few people even appeared to like it. Rimmer was sparked out of his reverie by Eugene who was nudging him “At least we both know it gets better- look at Dave.” The scouser was looking at his own meal in disgust having smothered it in brown sauce and was only now bravely taking a bite out of it. Viv and Rick were eating in earnest remarking ‘it’s better than what Neil used to make’ No one of course knew who Neil was, but if he cooked worse than this crap, they certainly didn’t want to meet him.

“Needs a bit more of a bite, where’s the beer? Where’s last night’s vindy? You can’t have breakfast without a curry” Lister lamented. Rimmer was ashamed about it, but realised he’d been watching the man for far longer than was generally acceptable.

“Get used to it now, it’ll get better. Once we’ve passed we can eat what we like!” implored Eugene.

“I’m not sure it hasn’t got a bite, but I suppose we’ll soon tell” complained Rimmer, he was sure that before the day was out someone would have food poisoning. If he was a betting man, he would stake quite a considerable sum on it.

* * *

 

Before long they were turned out of the canteen and back on the parade square for some more “basic drill”. ‘I hope to God it goes better than before’ Rimmer thought. Personally he couldn’t see the logic in making them eat and then making them exercise straight afterwards, though it was probably their way of making them ready for anything. The first hour was run of the mill marching, left turn, right turn, wheeling all that smeg. The simple stuff. With a few isolated incidents aside, they had it in hand- they weren’t perfect but they weren’t mucking it up all the time either. He was surprised no-one had been sick yet, but he supposed that the poor excuse for food they had been given had coagulated in their stomachs making sure they couldn’t be sick. There it seemed, lay the space corps’ logic.

That all changed when the corporals dragged the mats out. They looked like nothing special, the same sickly green as everything else. “These mats” Corporal Steele began, “weigh the same as an average human being. They are your new best friend. But as you can see they don’t have legs. So you will drag them around”. It was three times round the parade square each. Lister, try as he might could only manage one and three quarters, but seeing he was truly shagged out, the corporals didn’t give him too much of a bollocking. Then came his turn.

He started the walk around the square dragging the thing behind him and swearing all the way. “Start Working!” screamed the corporal. ‘What do they expect me to do, run?’ he thought to himself angrily. “I said WORK bean-pole!” the corporal shouted, using his own special name for Rimmer, evidently they did. He’d show them. He picked up the pace, going as hard as he could. It wasn’t quite a run but was at least a fast jog and nothing they could shout at him for. When the last man had come in, Murray from the other section, the corporals got a somewhat feral look in their eyes.

“Bean Pole, Bellamy, Scott, Tackleberry- since you lot decided to show off- we’ll help. Lay on your stomachs. Now!” scared of the consequences for not listening they all dropped down immediately. They had been the only four able to pick up their pace, and now they were being punished for it. Suddenly they felt the heavy weight of the mat on his back. “Crawl. To the building opposite and back, at the double!” Munroe shouted.

It hurt. A lot. But he was unwilling to show weakness by giving up. Eventually he made his way, huffing and puffing and virtually crying. He guessed this was what his brothers had talked about when they mentioned hazing- or in space corps parlance ‘beasting’. Pointless and strenuous physical exercise designed to break you down. Bellamy gave up, pulling himself from under the mat and not quite keeping his temper. Luckily for him, the corporals didn’t make a big thing of it or he’d be in the base jail or running around carrying an oil drum above his head, or doing any of the other punishments he’d heard about. “This. Isn’t. Pointless. It is a test of strength and stamina, of guts and grit. You four are just the ones we chose now. Everyone will be tested.” Corporal Munroe said once they were all done. All Rimmer could think was ‘thank Gods, it’s over.’**

* * *

 

Ignoring the muscles that were all roaring from sudden use, Rimmer limped his way along with the others to the quartermaster’s stores. It was uniform time and he couldn’t help feeling just a little excited at looking more like a soldier and a space corps officer. It was a small but significant point in the journey to officerhood. Soon he was swamped under the weight of equipment. 2 sets of work fatigues, one set of parade gear, work boots, parade boots, white t-shirt, shorts, skivvies, webbing, pack, beret and the hundreds of other things he apparently needed. ‘The military’ he thought ‘was definitely invented by a woman’ why else would they need five different outfits and different pairs of shoes? Struggling, he made his way to the barrack room with the others and packed his equipment in the locker. “Get changed into your parade fatigues and get out on the square in 15” Halifax roared at them.

The fatigues barely fit, so they swapped around among themselves until they found something that did. Sparkling black boots, black trousers, khaki shirts, black tie and short jacket and black beret with the space corps badge on it. It was hardly the snug elasticated jumpsuits they’d all seen on recruiting posters or the sleek suits of the SCMs, it looked old fashioned but at least it was a uniform. They all looked different, more serious. All except Dave, who he couldn’t help noticing still had that cute pudge, that glint of mischief he loved so much in his eyes. ‘Wait- LOVE?’ he thought. ‘No. NO. Not going there.’ Regardless once again he had to reiterate the rules regarding his sexuality to certain parts of his body, which didn’t give a smeg. For some reason, no matter how hard he tried, he could not stop his natural attraction.

Once again the rest of the day went quickly. The meals were still bad, they were still being shouted at for virtually nothing and they were still being beasted. It was nightfall when the first truly interesting thing happened. A guy from the other section, who was for some reason that no-one was quite sure of was nicknamed pup, did a runner. He changed into the grey and navy camo they had received, perfect for lunar environments, picked up his bag and just jumped the fence. Within minutes, the NCOs were after him and the rest of them were lined up on the parade square. Rimmer didn’t know the man, but knew he was a local from his accent, and wished him the best with his escape- if he wasn’t such a coward he’d be off after him. The beastings were just too much. But there was a little voice inside that kept saying ‘this is nothing. Remember what father did to you- you survived that, you’ll survive this, you can do it.’ The voice was a stranger, but he liked it, and he listened to it.

* * *

 

Lined up in three ranks above the base headquarters, they faced forward in silence. Sergeant Halifax was glaring at them. Seemingly out of nowhere the platoon commander walked out in front of them. They snapped to attention. If the platoon commander, a senior officer was dealing with it, it had to be bad. Especially since they hadn’t seen hide nor hare of the man before now. Coughing to clear his throat the platoon commander, Captain Braun began “Absent without leave is a serious offence. Just short of desertion. People used to get shot for that. Singh will be punished severely, and if we find out any of you helped, you will be too. Come clean and no more will be said. You will stay here, being questioned until I say stop, and I am fully prepared to keep this up all night”

One by one they were interviewed starting with the escapee’s bunkmate and friends, then his section mates and then the others. They were taken off to the office and then were returned to stand back in rank on the parade square. The staff were leaving no stone unturned in their search, and certainly weren’t giving them a chance to speak among themselves to concoct a cover story. Rimmer found himself more and more distracted as time went by, standing behind Lister. With a prime view of the man’s arse. Luckily his body had decided that the night air was too cold to embarrass him, the only reason why he wasn’t cursing the chill with all his might like some of the others. It was dark now, they had to have been standing like this for at least two hours.

“Rimmer” Munroe called indicating he was to follow. He did and the two reached the commanders office where the man himself was waiting. He took his beret off, shoving it under his epaulette as instructed and announced himself

“Cadet Rimmer sir, reporting as ordered***”

“Come in and sit down” The commanders voice was more gentle than the others but still clear. He obeyed, sitting ramrod straight, right leg jiggling hard.

“Yes Sir”

“Relax. Are you hiding something? Why is your leg jiggling all over the smegging place” The man said.

“No. It’s a nervous tic sir” Rimmer replied unable to relax at all.

“Do you know Cadet Singh at all?”

“No Sir. I saw him around all day but we didn’t speak. We didn’t work together either, being from opposing sections” He replied honestly.

“Did you hear him talking of escape? Or acting strangely?”

“No, he didn’t talk much to anybody, let alone me. He didn’t seem to be acting strangely Sir. He was a bit agitated but then again everyone was, not being used to early starts Sir.”

“That is all, you may go.” It was another two hours before Singh was located. He was brought before the others and forced to apologise for keeping them up, though none of them were in any mood to accept the apology. It was one o’ clock in the smegging morning and they had to be up at five. Somehow no-one thought the staff would be nice enough to let them have a lay in.

* * *

 

They thought right. They were up yet again at five o’clock, with more déjà vu. Ablutions before dressing and drill, where they continued to learn to march and getting shouted at. They saw Singh being run ragged by the guards, trained provosts. To think that in a few months they would be doing this to other people was a disturbing but also somewhat satisfying thought for Rimmer. He could just imagine doing this to his brothers, making them suffer, getting his revenge…

Then breakfast, one sausage, baked beans and toast. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it was actually edible but despite their grumbling everyone polished it off. Ten minutes to get changed into PT kits, complete with the plimsolls he thought he’d left behind in primary school, and then they were introduced to the Physical Training Instructors. Corporals Brownlee and Hove were tough, tattooed men who looked like if they were civilians would be friends with Vivian.

They started off with a fitness test. Even Rimmer who thought himself a fit man struggled. Only Tackleberry seemed to impress the PTIs but then he would, as an ex-SCM. The first part consisted of press ups, pull ups, sit ups and step ups and every other ‘up’ they could think of- seeing how many each man could do in 2 minutes. Whilst he wasn’t the best, he also wasn’t the worst and was pleasantly surprised to be teamed up with Dave. Lister was currently struggling his way through the sit ups, and Rimmer was supposed to be counting them. In addition, his currently detached brain was letting his mouth say whatever he liked in order to support him. “Come on, you can do it love” he heard someone saying, before realising it was him. SMEG almighty! His brain suddenly reconnected with a thud, and he pretended nothing had happened for the next minute until the time was up. Where the hell had the endearment come from? He only hoped Dave didn’t beat the smeg out of him, which would be bad as he at the very least wanted to keep him as a friend. If he wasn’t being watched, he most likely would have hit himself in the head again.

* * *

 

The next part of the test was a one and a half mile run and by unspoken agreement, they ran together, Rimmer adjusting his gait to suit the much shorter and slower man. “Love?” Lister questioned when they were out of earshot from the others.

“I-I I’m sorry, forget it, it was nothing” he stammered thankful that their at least seemed to be no anger in the question so far as he could tell.

“Shame. I kind of liked it” Replied Lister with a wink.

“Really?” the two stopped and leaned in for the kiss, they just felt they needed to clear the air… but fate trampled on them once again. They heard the heavy footsteps of a running man behind them. Lister sighed

“we’ll talk about this later, alright darlin’” He couldn’t help but tease Rimmer just a little for his earlier slip up.

“Fine. We’d better get moving.” The two sped up coming in together with the only just respectable time of 9 minutes. At least they weren’t the last in.

Rimmer found himself being pulled aside by Brownlee. “Cadet I know you can do better than what you did. What kept you, talking to your friend there?” For a minute, Rimmer thought he’d been spotted by the man but internally sighed with relief that they hadn’t.

“I was helping my friend, by making sure he didn’t have to ‘go it alone’ Corporal (1)”

“Good man, but next time. Don’t bother.”

* * *

They didn’t quite manage to find the time to talk until after dinner. Everyone got an hour to do cleaning and that ready for kit inspection the following morning and they ended up sitting outside polishing their boots together.

“About earlier…” Rimmer began.

“Don’t Arn. I have to know man. Is this for sex, or does this actually mean something to you? I’ve been played too many times. I have to know.” Lister said quietly, looking into his eyes keenly.

“Certainly not for just sex, I’ve never felt like this with anyone else” Rimmer replied earnestly.

“Have you done this before?” Lister asked flippantly.

“No” Rimmer admitted, blushing already “I haven’t been with anybody before, let alone a man.” The break in his voice told Lister he wasn’t kidding.

“Eh, it’s alright Arn. Ev’ryone has to have a first time. I’m honoured that it’s me- before you ask I have done this before. A couple of times.”

That was all the reassurance he needed. Their lips met, first in a chaste peck and then in a more passionate kiss, each holding the other tight as if they could not let them go. They were only interrupted by the cough of a smoker, and realised Mike was there, lit cigarette hanging out his mouth. “

‘S alrigh’ don’t let me stop you. I don’t mind. But the others might not be so understanding, you better watch wha’ ya doing” he nodded towards the NCOs hut where their leaders and foes were hiding themselves. The two pulled apart frustration obvious.

“Thanks” Rimmer whispered, glad that at least the man wasn’t judgemental.

“No worries, just don’t get caught eh?” Mike said, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall.


	4. On the loose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more T rated slash, and a couple of immature jokes. There is a cliffhanger, which my beta fairy thinks is cruel but I don't care anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *passing out- a ceremony at which a soldier completes training and becomes a fully squared up member of the armed forces.   
> **SCNAAFI is what they might call the club in the RD world. it's currently the NAAFI (Navy, Army and Air Force institute, so I've added a Space Corps to it.)  
> *** sung to the tune of 'what a friend we have in Jesus' known to most as 'when this bloody war is over...'   
> Additional notes-   
> 1) DILFs in space belongs to someone on tumblr- I can't remember who. I don't claim to own it and if whoever it is tells me, I'll credit them   
> 2) please leave a review if you like it, otherwise I worry that no-one does. hell- leave a review if you hated it even, just leave a review.   
> 3) I don't own Red Dwarf, and I don't really want it. I have too much stress in my life already, and if I ever get it, i'll share it among all the fans.

The rest of the six week basic training phase went very quickly, but somehow at the same time- not quickly enough. The NCO’s continued to beast them, getting them angry until they were all steaming mad, but still able to control it. That was when they got the guns and bayonets. Fuelled with anger they learnt to use them quickly, but effectively. Once that was sorted the corporals finally started to build them back up again, in some cases better than others. They were progressing sure, getting fit, making less mistakes and all the rest of it, but Rimmer’s temper was still running high. He was never a calm man but he was almost certain that during arguments he had never before actually visualised the most effective way of killing his opponent. And around here arguments were all too frequent.

The only thing that didn’t seem to be progressing was his and Lister’s relationship- they were still basically just friends, though not for lack of trying. Frustration was definitely running high as they approached the sixth and final week of the training. Sneaked kisses that had to be broken off when the liaison got too passionate, stolen moments and a rushed blowjob or two just wasn’t enough for either of them, especially Dave who knew what he was missing out on. But it was what they had, and all they could have. A relationship that had to be kept secret because they didn’t know how others would take it, and no privacy didn’t bode well for their physical relationship. In fact it had made it impossible.

Now, they were about ready to burst from unresolved sexual tension alone. But they only had to wait a little longer. If they passed the initial training, and initial indications looked like they were going to, they would Pass Out* and then have a week's leave. All to themselves. A whole week. Almost six weeks’ pay and a week’s leave gave them the means to stay in a local hotel but not quite enough to travel, not that they wanted to, but they knew there was a chance of being spotted as most would stay in local hotels. Rimmer was pretty sure he could limit the chance of being seen by choosing not to leave the hotel room which would A) limit the chance of them being seen B) release some of the pressure, and most importantly C) would be pretty smegging fantastic actually.

They at least weren’t the only ones with plans in place to hook up over the leave. After the third week of training they were allowed to spend a half hour or so in the social club (the SCNAAFI**), where they could have some very limited and supervised contact with the female cadets. It was good they were trusted, but no one had any doubts as to the fact it was a revocable privilege and if there was any hanky-panky there would be no more contact at all. Not that it stopped many from trying but they were very careful not to be caught.

* * *

 

Lister and Rimmer had made friends with two of them, the students from the lorry, Liz and Jenny and did at least spend a little social time with them, the company releasing some pressure in an innocent way. The two had seen fit to introduce them to their favourite TV show- DILFs in space. Rimmer thought the theme tune was positively obscene and blushed when the girls insisted on singing along with it but it was funny anyway.

“I’m sure they only invited us because they think we’re gay” grumbled Rimmer after the first time they watched it together. It was a surprise that the girls had realised their true relationship so fast, given that the men were still oblivious but they explained it was half seeing they had chemistry straight away and half women’s intuition. Lister reckoned it was just that they’d seen one of them copping a feel of the other at some point.

“Technically we are gay Arn” Dave replied soothingly.

* * *

 

Tonight was a movie night and the girls were being joined by them, Mike who was there since he was dating Liz but who looked bored out of his skull, and Den and Phil who were currently vying for Jenny’s affections, at least pretending to be paying attention. At some point they would probably beat the ever-loving smeg out of each other and settle it between themselves. There was quite a good bet going round the barracks for just that eventuality, with pretty high stakes, over who would win and what Jenny’s reaction would be. If it came to a fight both Lister and Rimmer hoped she would tell them both she didn’t fight thugs, as she deserved so much better than that.

There were just three days left, fitness tests, another medical to ensure they were still fighting fit, and then a couple of days simulated warfare. In the dark. In pairs. The temptation to go off together would be strong, but they would have to overcome it. Rimmer was pretty damn sure that answering the call of the cosmic horn was not an acceptable excuse for abandoning their post during sentry duty, or for being unable to be defend themselves because they were otherwise engaged. Besides the chances of being caught were just too high, what with the masses of people all sneaking around in the dark trying to find each other.

 

At this moment Lister had better things to think about. He was being run ragged at the front of the group being forced to jog, and all for singing. Lister was well aware he couldn’t sing but he didn’t see why he was being physically punished for it. Especially for a song with lyrics as classy as the ones he had learnt from a positively ancient veteran he’d once met. He hadn’t a clue what the tune was from, just one he’d picked up somewhere. *** Even now he was still singing it, joined by the cheekier of the others.

“When this rotten training’s over

Oh how happy I will be

I will buy a mimian hooker

And show her what she means to me

 

No more kit parades on Sunday

No more bromine in my tea

When this rotten training’s over

Oh how happy I will be

 

No more corporals bawling at me

No more sergeants beasting me

When this rotten training‘s over…”

“SHUT UP!”

He knew he would get beasted but he was in too good a mood to let that bother him. And it wasn’t as if it made a difference anymore anyway. They had already broken him down, past the point where he didn’t care anymore and then built him back up again tougher than before.

* * *

 

Two days later, they were marching back into camp, basking in the glow of war-games victory. It was early in the morning and they had today to get ready, and then tomorrow they would graduate. After tomorrow they had relative freedom. After two days in a fox hole alone with Arn for most of the time, but being too scared of being discovered to do anything, Lister was horny as hell. But most of all he just needed sleep. Of course it wasn’t as if they had done nothing those two nights. When one of them wasn’t on watch and they weren’t on patrol, they were to be found kissing and cuddling like a pair of love-struck teenagers, contact that was just as good as sex and meant more to him. Dave struggled at first, not being celibate this long since he had lost his virginity in the first place at age 12. But now he realised when it happened it would be brilliant, even if the sex was bad, because of the person he was doing it with.

It was just one more night. One more night. The proximity was torture and to know that freedom was soon coming just made it worse. At least it was alleviated by the fact that for the rest of the day they had a short drill session and had to get their kit ready, but could then do as they pleased. Could drink as much as they wanted to, could smoke as much as they wanted to, and there was no lights out at 10:30. The thought was bliss.

* * *

Several hours later, sorer than they thought from what they were assured was going to be light drill but turned out to be a couple of hours of sheer pain. But with gleaming kits ready and alone in the bunkroom they were content to leave the others getting pished and smoking themselves to death, partying in the SCNAAFI. The two were currently lounging in Rimmer’s bunk cuddled together and sharing sweet little kisses, no words needing to be spoken. Suddenly they moved and Lister was treated to a series of stomach wrenching cracks as Rimmer straightened out, wincing all the way. Rimmer tried to put a brave face on it, but coward that he was he found that pretty hard. “Smeg Arn, you’re tenser than a bloke on his way to being hung” Lister said quietly.

“I know Dave, but it’s not like I can do anything about it” Rimmer groaned back, rubbing his shoulder in a mostly futile attempt to curb the worst of the pain.

“Let me give you a massage” urged Lister “they don’t call me magic hands for nothing, just take your kit off and lay down and I’ll make you feel better. Then you can return the favour eh?”

“But what if it leads onto something else?” Rimmer countered scared of being caught.

“Arn, we’re adults we can deal with it. Tomorrow night is for that, love, tonight just let me make you feel better” Lister whispered.

“Ok” He replied, as much in conformation to himself as to Dave, before stripping right down as instructed and lying on his stomach. It took a lot to trust someone like this, for Rimmer, this sort of domestication was more foreign even than sex, a show of love that no one had ever felt for him before.

Dave too stripped down to underwear, and went to his locker to grab the massage oil stuff he knew he’d brought with him, originally for completely innocent purposes. Turning around with oil in hand, his jaw dropped open. Lit by the orange glow of a streetlamp coming in through the window, his lover’s toned body looked positively incredible. It would be hard to keep it innocent but they had to.

Minutes later, an increasingly relaxed Rimmer was caring less and less about his environment as Dave worked him over rubbing his shoulder blades hard and he couldn’t stop a small groan from escaping. He didn’t know quite how a massage could feel so good but he certainly wasn’t complaining. Dave was right, he did have magic hands. Just about the only part of him that wasn’t being soothed by the massage was the bit he wished would relax the most. Nothing could happen tonight, and both brains knew that, despite how much they wanted to rebel. From the way Dave was straddled over his back, Arn knew his lover was having similar problems with his self-control.

Suddenly they were both shocked back into awareness by the sound of a camera going off. Looking over to the door way they breathed a sigh of slight relief as they realised it was only Jen and Liz. “That IS the hottest thing I have ever seen.” Jen breathed, camera still in her hands, preparing another shot, this time of their shocked faces at getting caught.

“God we can’t leave you alone for five minutes can we” joked Liz, oblivious to the fact that the boy’s blush was down to blood returning from other areas out of sheer shock. They were still too stunned to move out of the position they were currently in. Not that they really wanted to, even if they could.

“This isn’t what it looks like” they both babbled at the same time, well aware of the view the girls would be getting of Arn’s… naked figure and of Lister straddling him. They might come to a conclusion, that alas the boy’s themselves hadn’t… yet.

“Don’t worry we won’t tell anyone. As long as you let us watch” Jenny whispered conspiratorially.

“Jen!” Liz admonished her friend “we just wanted to see if you wanted to join us, since no one’s seen you around all evening. Though we can see you’ve much… better things to do, so we’ll be off” She explained quickly.

“Hang on, we’re coming, the mood’s a little dead now anyway. Could you just wait for us whilst we get dressed” Rimmer said, adding “outside” when he saw Jenny’s look, though he was at least happy she’d chosen not to voice whatever was on her tongue when he said ‘coming’. It was quite hard to talk with the full weight of one David Lister on his back, but he just about managed it.

“Oh alright” they feigned reluctance, or at least it was feigned on Liz’s part. Neither of them was sure about Jenny. Knowing her, they were surprised Liz didn't have to drag her out after her.

* * *

The rest of the night was a blur of booze and embarrassing memories. They had got a little bit drunk, not as much as the others but had still joined in with everything. The table top karaoke, the game of Never Have I Ever that Rimmer won because he’d never really done anything, and even the jeering that happened when that one female cadet started stripping. Rimmer reckoned he could believe about half the night before, whilst Lister, more accustomed to drinking could remember nearly all of it. Including their platonic-only-because-of-brewer’s-droop shower after Rimmer got sick. VERY sick. And then there may have been a lot of drunken singing as they called it a night and couldn’t get to sleep because of the noise. ‘If you can’t beat ‘em, join them and if you can’t join them- fuck ‘em’ as Lister’s grandmother used to say.

So when they were woken up the next morning unfortunately in separate beds, they were hungover but not the worst off out of everybody. In honour of their achievement, the corporals let them stay in bed an extra half hour and introduced them to the military version of ‘the hair of the dog treatment’ Hellfire. It was the strongest coffee any of them had ever had, mixed with potent rum in a ratio of two parts rum to one part coffee. But it did pick them up so they couldn’t really argue.

But all too soon it was time to get up. Quickly but carefully they shaved, got clean, dressed immaculately in their black and khaki parade uniforms knowing it still wouldn’t be good enough for the sergeant’s inspections. Though he couldn’t do a whole lot now, he could make their lives hell when they came back after leave. Lister and Rimmer checked each other over making sure neither of them would commit an infraction bad enough to have their leave cancelled- a constant threat hanging over them- all their gear was packed in lockers still ready for use or for the quartermaster’s to collect back in and they hadn’t been given their civilian stuff back yet. The problems were minor, not quite enough shine on Lister’s boots, fingerprints on Rimmer’s belt and they were quickly rectified before the inspection.

Then they were lined up by their bunks, for the infamous inspection. They could hear the bawling of the sergeant through the wall, evidently he wasn’t happy with the state of someone’s billet as they heard glass smashing. From experience they guessed it was someone's boots through the window. That seemed to be the sergeant's favourite trick of late.  Their own section bunkroom was clean enough, the more boisterous of the drunks being made to sleep outside last night. And then it was time for their own section’s turn for inspection. Sergeant Halifax looked each over- telling them to brush off imaginary lint or to get a haircut before they came back the next week. But despite his swearing, there appeared to be no serious issues as no one was told they wouldn’t be graduating. Just half an hour later and they were preparing to graduate, lining up in their ranks, one of four sections to be passing out today.

* * *

It was a huge event with all the cadets, the military band, the staff and all their families. There was a lot of people watching and supporting people who were graduating today, but both Lister and Rimmer knew there was no one there for them. They hadn’t told anyone to come to support them. On the prompt they marched out, did the whole display as instructed absolutely perfectly for once and then reformed into ranks. They listened, hiding boredom and sidelong glances at each other during the camp commander’s speech and they cheered during the awards. A cadet from the other section who they didn’t know that well won best recruit, but Rimmer and all the others cheered as Lister received his Most Improved award. It was at that point that it all hit home for Rimmer, berets exchanged for caps, and stripes for pips- they were officers! And at least on his part, gentlemen, he wasn’t quite sure about Dave. He’d made it!

And then finally they were dismissed. They returned to the billet and locked up their guns, but unfortunately they were ordered to travel in their ultra-itchy uniforms so they weren’t quite shot of them yet. Though if Lister had his way within two hours they’d be on a hotel room floor. Picking up their bags they took one last look to make sure everything was squared away. They said their goodbyes as they saw people. First to Viv and Rick who were having an argument with a short bloke and a hippy. Next to Phil and Den, once again good friends after Jen decided on some lad called Tom last night who gave fond farewells to ‘too-tall’ and ‘dope on a rope’ nicknames given but tolerated only under duress. Liz, Jen, Tom and Mike were next and they both hugged the girls, Dave blushing when Jen whispered a suggestion in his ear as per positions. “I’m not sure that’s possible” he whispered back before breaking the hug.

After that, they were walking towards the lunar shuttle bus, when Rimmer saw something that made his face lose the little colour it had. “Arn- what is it” Lister said, worried about his lovers sudden pause. Rimmer moved his mouth, desperate to say, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead he pointed at the man, familiar looking but of no immediate concern for Lister, and then, he did a Arnold Rimmer trademark move. He fainted dead away.


	5. further steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's where the smut begins and a resolution to that godawful cliffhanger

*-bent as a nine bob note: a rather old expression but I still couldn’t see it quite dying out. Means exactly what it sounds like, the person described is ‘bent’. Bent either means criminally active, or gay. In this case, the latter.

**- gone for a burton: another expression of the older variety, meaning missing, gone or dead depending on context __________________________________________________________________________________

Once he’d recovered, Rimmer went on the offensive. “What the hell are you doing here?” he yelled at the strangers, voice full of more anger than Lister had ever heard in it.

“Well we heard our brother Bonehead had finally made good as officer. We just had to see it to believe it. Come to think of it, I’m seeing it and still can’t believe it.” The taller of the two said. Lister was confused. Brother? He didn’t know Rimmer had brothers, he’d never said anything.

“Just… How the hell do you find out I was here?” Rimmer was still fuming mad, obviously, but he had regained enough control to be shocked. From his reaction even Lister could see that he was genuinely troubled by this unexpected meeting, and had nothing to do with his brothers, nipping any anger he was feeling about his partner’s secrets in the bud.

“Did you really think you could hide from us? They didn’t care before, but now you’ve finally made the space corps, Mummy and Daddy want to see you. Even if you are only an ensign. John was so surprised, he got leave as well. He’s waiting in the car. We’re to bring you home to see them.” The shorter of the brothers spoke now, and Lister decided that he was a complete smeghead. Deciding to take pity he offered Rimmer an out.

“Care to introduce us?” He asked, polite so as not to offend the strangers, who he decided he didn’t like much at all.

Rimmer shifted nervously, and stared at the shuttle which was due to be leaving any minute, and then swallowed whatever he was going to say. Then he nodded, to no one in particular, which Lister knew to be one of his tics and spoke. “Dave, this is Commander Howard and Captain Frank Rimmer, my brothers. Howard, Frank, this is David Lister, my… my partner.” Lister could see the strain of admission on his face.

Realisation crossed over both brothers’ faces, and Howard at least broke into an evil grin, and whispering into his brother’s ear. “We always knew you were as bent as a nine bob note* bonehead. Now come on with us. You can even bring your boyfriend.” Behind them, they could hear the shuttle moving off. Damn, that was their plans gone for a burton**. Lister wasn’t sure about it, but when Rimmer started to go off with them, he knew he had to come with him. He couldn’t leave his boyfriend alone to face a family, that from at least what he could gather, he hated. And it wasn’t like they had any other choice now the bus had left without them. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. And if it was, well they could make their excuses and go back to plan A.

“You want me to go back to IO? We only have a smegging week’s leave!” Rimmer moaned. His brother tutted.

“Not home-home, the summer home on Earth you bonehead. Oh wait. You didn’t know about that one. Never mind.” Seeing there was no way out that was not going to end in victory, and their planned week alone in the hotel, they both moved off with the other two to the visitor area, where a bright red hoppercraft was waiting, a blond guy hanging half out the window impatiently. Lister knew it to be an expensive one, and he looked keenly at it, having loved getting his hands on hoppers when he was working at the garage.

“Wow” he breathed, Rimmer’s family must be loaded, so how comes he’d ended up as a second technician? Then he answered his own question. Of course, because he had nothing to do with them. Reluctantly they both got in the hopper, both loving the feel of the padded seats after six weeks of furniture which must have been designed for pain. Duffel bags were shoved in the back and the craft moved off smoothly and almost silently. But then that’s what they always said about Rolls-Royce Astros, the only sound you can hear is the ticking of the clock.

“Where abouts on Earth are we going?” Lister asked. The other brother, the one driving- John was it- chuckled, a mirthful deep sound, which made him think he wasn’t as bad as the other two.

“Oh a little town on the south coast, where the Family’s from originally. You’re from Liverpool aren’t you? Salt of the Earth, Liverpudlians.” Lister nodded, confident in his first impressions of the man.

* * *

 

Just over half an hour later, they were circling over the London Spaceport, and Lister couldn’t believe it. From above, it looked like he could see the entire world. Pretty, but he couldn’t help thinking that it would be a lot better if the buildings weren’t there. Human beings had ruined the Earth, had ruined most of the solar system and now were having a damn good crack at deep space as well. What a shame.

Upon landing a few moments later Lister and Rimmer were considering sneaking off as they cleared customs having unpacked and repacked their duffels at least twice each. Howard was egging Rimmer on, trying to make him break, Frank was making snide remarks regarding their sexuality and how, even though his brother was dumb, he could have picked better, and only John was being civil. The two of them shared a silent conversation, looks and body language saying it all, but before they could work out a plan they were trapped in the arrivals area. Waiting for them was a shortish older man appearing somewhat absent, and being wheeled along in a wheel chair by a tall lady, prim and austere in looks but with eyes that wandered appreciatively towards every passing male.

“Boys” she said happily, enveloping each in a hug before coming to Rimmer. “Arnold” she acknowledged in a somewhat colder manner. Then she came to Lister “who’s this?” she asked flirting clear in hear voice, casting a roving eye towards his admittedly significant package.

“That’s Dave, Arnold’s… friend Mother, he was on his way to Earth anyway, so we gave him a lift” John said, for some reason covering for them. “

Well, why doesn’t he stay with us, then he can get a lift back when you lot go off again” Mrs Rimmer suggested “You’ll have to share a room with Arnold I’m afraid, but I expect you’re used to that” she was blissfully unaware of just how much that actually suited Lister. She was still looking, a glance which made him check his uniform for any glaringly obvious mistakes, but no, both his and Rimmer’s uniforms were perfect, with their fresh pips and shiny cap badges making it clear they were newly initiated into officerhood.

Lister flashed his best innocent grin “Thanks Mrs Rimmer, that’s great” he felt the poke of a sharp elbow in his ribs, and turned to look at the perpetrator, all right, don’t overdo it Rimmer’s eyes pleaded.

“Well that’s settled then. David’s coming with us. God knows it’ll be nice to have someone sane to talk to for once” she said, virtually pulling him along as they moved off to another car in the visitor area.

“Yes, someone sane to talk to at last” Rimmer whispered in his ear. Lister got him back by punching his arm none too gently.

“Shut up. At least this way we still get to spend some time together. And hopefully release some of this tension if we can be quiet.” Lister responded.

“You mean we’re going to have sex, proper sex, in my parents’ house, as guests when they don’t even know we’re together” poor Arn, Lister thought, he’s going to have a heart attack if he doesn’t lighten up. From the way he was suddenly looking, a heart attack could well be on the cards.

“No. I mean we’re going to make love, in your room, and I’m going to make you feel really smegging good” Lister responded, watching his soon to be lover squirming uneasily with the sudden arousal brought about by that sentence and the sentiments it alluded to.

* * *

 

A reasonably awkward and quiet drive later, first along stupidly clogged motorways, and then through stupidly narrow B-roads eventually led them to a large, Georgian style house. Lister couldn’t stop the escaping gasp of air as he first looked at it, it was huge, with large sculpted gardens and must have cost the family a pretty penny. Rimmer himself was failing in his attempt to hide a similar level of surprise at the house, he should’ve known his parents would always go for the biggest, showiest house they could find- money no object. He shot a quick glare at his brothers as they chortled at his reaction, obviously forgetting he hadn’t seen the place before.

They were shown up into a guest room by John, who told them that dinner was going to be about seven, and that they should be prepared to be questioned because ‘Father is rather lucid today’. Once he excused himself, Lister turned to Rimmer as they shoved their things into the plain wardrobe.

“What’s that all about?”

“Father used to starve me if I didn’t get astronavigation questions right. As you can guess, I almost died of starvation. Whilst I don’t think he’ll go that far with a guest in the house, and now that I am at least on my way to being an officer, it won’t be good enough, and he’ll still berate me.”

“How ‘bout some pre dinner sex to cheer you up mister?” Lister said in the flirtiest, most _come hither_ voice he could manage.

“We can’t. I’d love to, you know that, but its 6:30 and Mumsie is exactly the kind of person who will waltz straight into a room, to see why you’re late. Believe me I know.”

“Snuggle now, sex later?” Lister offered by way of a compromise.

“Brilliant plan Dave” Arnold replied, his eyes dark with desire already. They kissed and held each other, willing time itself to go to hell so they could enjoy the moment forever but all too soon they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Dinners ready Bonehead. And Dave, forgot about you for a second mate!” Howard shouted through the door.

“We’ll be down in a second, we’re just washing our hands!” Rimmer hollered back, but by this time they could already hear the heavy bouncing footsteps going down the wooden stairs.

“Well” he said, looking for the bright side concerning the interruption, “At least he didn’t open the door and go downstairs to spy on us”.

* * *

 

Dinner was a formal and stuffy affair, only made bearable by the admirable efforts of the cook Mrs Pisada. Conversation was bland and mildly unpleasant, but thankfully not too soul-searching, and Lister just couldn’t wait for it to end. He was prepared to bide out his time in patient silence, at least until Mrs Rimmer had to ask him that question. “How well do you know Arnold, David?” she asked, in that polite yet patronising way all wealthy people seemed to have.

He thought for a moment ‘how much did he actually want to share? How much should he share? What would their reaction be? “We’re good friends I suppose, going through training together, you all have to be- otherwise you won’t make it through.”

“Ah, the camaraderie of service, how I miss it” the eldest Mr Rimmer spoke up, showing that surprisingly, he hadn’t fallen asleep yet. Lister was just about to politely ask where he’d been in the service, the kind of small talk they had on the films when dealing with a lovers parents when Arn decided to drop the bombshell.

“Actually, Mother, Father, it’s a bit more than that. We’re lovers” he said it in a quiet and unsure voice, and the moment he said it, he looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up. Mr Rimmer choked on his soup. Mrs Rimmer’s spoon fell out her hand and landed with a wet plop. All three brothers stared at Rimmer, like he’d just announced he wanted to torture and kill a puppy. Lister stared at him, shocked he had the courage to say it, just after he’d avoided the issue to make Arn feel better.

“WHAT?” shouted Mrs Rimmer. Forget looks, if voices could kill both of them would be stone cold dead. “Arnold, why didn’t you tell us before?”

“You’re not angry?” Rimmer replied, not quite believing their reaction.

“Of course not my boy, this kind of eccentricity is well-praised in an officer” Mr Rimmer said, at the same time his wife replied “Now you’ve proved yourself my dear, you deserve to be happy”.

* * *

 

Later that night Rimmer found himself thinking about how two faced his family were. They wanted nothing to do with him when he was a technician, but now he was an officer? Whole different story. John had seemed genuine enough, quietly taking him aside and apologising for what he’d done when they were kids. His son, he explained, was being bullied and he could now see how painful it was to be on the receiving end. Despite his misgivings, Rimmer had accepted the apology. Maybe John had changed? The others hadn’t though, Frank and Howard were still just as horrible as ever.

At that moment Lister came out the bathroom still damp from his shower, and wearing absolutely nothing, confidently strutting towards him. Rimmer’s jaw dropped. He wasn’t sure where Lister got the confidence, but he was instantly hit with a strong pang of arousal. He walked straight into his lover’s arms and met him in a soul-searing passionate kiss that couldn’t fail to set the mood. Eventually they had to break for breath and Rimmer cursed whatever had been responsible for making breathing necessary at this moment. Lister pushed him back, until the back of his legs reached the double bed. Gently but firmly, not breaking the kiss, Lister pushed him flat on his back against the soft mattress, and Rimmer couldn’t quite help the groan that escaped when he felt Lister’s firm weight above him. “Arn darlin’, I think you’re wearing too many clothes.” Lister’s voice came out as little more than a gasp, and Rimmer opened his eyes, to see Lister looking at him with dark eyes glistening and kiss-swollen lips, a sight that had him biting back another groan.

“Wanna help me take them off then?” he offered, shy but flirty. Lister didn’t respond in words, but pulled up his pyjama shirt, signalling he was fully on board with that plan. Within seconds, he too was naked, and it was Lister’s turn to be speechless, even though he’d seen it a couple of times before, it was never like this.

“Beautiful Arn. What do you want to do, this is your night. We can do as much or as little as you want.” Lister didn’t want to stop, but he would if Rimmer wanted him to, because at the end of the day, this was about making Arn comfortable. He leaned down to give his lover a quick peck on the lips.

“I want everything” Rimmer replied confidently, arousal taking away the last of his inhibitions, before he leaned up to kiss Rimmer again.

“Just stop me if you need to. Whenever.” Lister said, knowing it was always something you should do to let your partner know they’re safe. With that he slipped down his lover’s body, kissing his way down his torso and nuzzling against his cock, having decided to start off by giving him a damn good blowjob that they didn’t have to rush.

“Oh my…don’t stop doing that” Rimmer’s brain had quite clearly flown straight out of his ears the moment Lister put his lips to him. He relaxed into the touch, forgetting his promise to himself that he would focus on the feel to remember it later, because he was sure it wouldn’t happen again. But now, it just felt too good to try to remember, he would just have to live in the moment. He tensed for a slight moment as he felt something press against an area previously only touched by doctors armed with lube and rubber gloves.

“Oh SMEG yes” he arched into the touch. Lister eased the gentle pressure for a moment.

“If you need to stop, just tell me, I mean that.”

“I’ll don’t think that’ll be a problem” Rimmer moaned trying to arch his way back into the delicious pressure. He wanted so much more. He moaned even louder as he felt a now slicked finger press up and into him, quickly joined by another. It felt good, but it just wasn’t enough and he needed more. He tried to convey that thought, but it came out as a wordless groan. Nevertheless, it appeared Lister knew what he meant, as the fingers slipped out, leaving him groaning from the sudden loss.

“Hang on to your hat Arn” Lister whispered in his ear as he felt something much larger entering him, stretching him even wider. It hurt, for a second, a vicious sting that made his breath catch and his eyes open wide, but the sensation was quickly replaced by pleasure and the sensation of being very, very full. After giving him a moment to adjust to his unusual girth, Lister started moving, gentle strokes at first, until Arnold made it clear he wanted more.

Lister picked up the pace and the pressure increased, hand moving over Rimmer’s cock at the same pace. Both of them knew they weren’t going to last long. All too soon, Rimmer came, and he could see Lister was not too far behind. True enough, the feeling of Rimmer’s orgasm brought Lister to his own conclusion, what had to be the most powerful orgasm he’d ever had.

They lay like that, still connected for a while before Lister moved off and out of his lover. Rimmer groaned at the loss and tried to keep Lister where he was, and Lister reassured him as he moved to lay beside him, snuggling in the afterglow of passionate love. They fell asleep still tangled together, curled together in a warm ball nuzzled against each other enjoying the comfortable, spacious double bed whilst they had it, since they knew they would be back in narrow bunks with no privacy before too long.


End file.
